Ever since Adam could remember, he'd been writing, on whatever he could get his hands on. All of his little stories he'd connoct and then wait from his father to come home from the university - the same one he now taught at - just so he could share what he created. Most of his friends growing up, what few of them there had been, never really understood what his fascination with words was, and it wasn't until Yale when Adam really found his niche. His people, as it were. He might always want to be the observer, but those notebooks he was always scribbling in held more details than he'd ever know what to do with.
"Seriously," he said, glad to see the younger man's enthusiasm. Much better than an eyeroll, which was the usual response that he got. "And yes, I'm 'for real' - I've published two books, this one will be my third." Whenever it was actually finished, that was. Adam wasn't the type to rush the writing process by any means, preferring to let the story come to him in its own time. His agent, though, had other ideas. "I teach at the university too, mostly creative writing, so I guess you could say I was working on it between classes. What kind of pieces do you write?" After a moment Adam realized just how much he'd been rambling, and his face took on a hint of color. "Oh, I'm Adam, by the way. Adam Rowe." Shifting his notebook under his arm, he held a hand out to the man.